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It was a question that hadn’t really occurred to any of them – of course not. They didn’t really talk much about their past love lives because that distracted from the wonderful, slightly dysfunctional now.
But, of course, Courfeyrac thought of the question. Of course, Courfeyrac, being the good-natured, meddling jerk-face that he was, was going to make them talk about it. Because, of course, Courfeyrac was going to bring it up in front of the whole group, addressed to the whole group, one night at the Musian, while he was safely tucked in the corner behind Jehan, braiding his hair with delicate movements and quick fingers.
“Have any of you ever wondered how many of us have actually slept with the others?” he pronounced musingly. And Enjolras knew he should have stopped his friend when he had gone to the bar for the sixth time not 25 minutes ago. “Because I have. I have spent immense amounts of time contemplating this question and now, I suppose, that has come to a head.” And Courfeyrac cleared his throat, seemingly surprised at his eloquence while nearly smashed. “So… Let’s talk about it.”
And Enjolras scanned the room, feeling his face redden. They could lie, he supposed. Although, God knows, Courfeyrac would remember it in the morning and call them all out on it separately. He shifted in his seat, threw a look at Grantaire in the seat next to him, and grimaced. Thankfully, Grantaire looked just as uncomfortable as he felt.
“No volunteers? Fine. I’ll go first. And then we’ll go…clockwise!” Courfeyrac proclaimed with a grin, tying off the end of Jehan’s braid. “I’ve slept with all of you. Mostly. Not Enjolras, of course, except in the chaste sense. Or Joly, Musichetta, Bossuet… But that’s because I respect the sanctity of their beautiful polyamorous relationship.” And then Courfeyrac grinned spectacularly towards the room at large.
“Next,” he suddenly called a moment later, leaning forward, resting his chin on Jehan’s shoulder. Jehan, who was bright red. Jehan, who was scowling slightly. Jehan who obviously didn’t like this game.
“This is ridiculous, Courfeyrac,” he said quietly, but sharply. And Courfeyrac stuck out his bottom lip in response, looking pitiful.
“Please, lovely?” he whined. And Jehan rolled his eyes with an exasperated sigh.
“You’re not going to stop until I give in, are you?” he said. And Courfeyrac shook his head gleefully. And Jehan gave another dark sigh.
“I haven’t slept with Joly, Musichetta, or Bossuet. Or Cosette, Eponine..." He shrugged, looking uncomfortable. "That’s… That’s it, I think,” he said, toneless. And Courfeyrac suddenly looked aghast behind him.
“You have seduced the Enjolras? How?” he said, roughly manhandling Jehan to face him. And Jehan blew a stray piece of hair from his face before leaning over, next to Courfeyrac’s ear. And Enjolras swallowed, uncomfortable, before checking Grantaire. Who, he found, was gazing at him with no lack of amusement, his eyebrow cocked sardonically.
“Well…” Courfeyrac said. And when everyone turned back to him, they found him bright red. “That certainly…was effective.” And then he cleared his throat, as Jehan turned back to the room, with the most shit-eating grin Enjolras had ever seen upon his face. And Enjolras, remembering exactly how Jehan had seduced him, knew that such a grin was warranted. When Jehan winked at him, he had the presence of mind to grin beautifully back.
“Next,” Courfeyrac called. And the entire room seemed to be warming up to this idea now. Now that Courfeyrac was turning red and staring at Enjolras like he was a code that needed cracking. Enjolras looked away quickly and met Grantaire’s gaze again, only to find his boyfriend looking utterly bemused.
“Combeferre!” Courfeyrac sing-songed, looking over at his bespectacled friend, who thus far looked unruffled, a book open in his lap.
Combeferre cleared his throat, marking his place in the book before removing his glasses and cleaning them on his hem with gentle fingers. “Enjolras, Courfeyrac, Jehan, Feuilly, Grantaire…” he exhaled slowly, then squinted at the ceiling. “And there was that one time with Joly when during that month when he and Bossuet were fighting, when Musichetta was in Budapest. I assume you already know,” he said, nodding to Bossuet who smiled wanly in return. Then Combeferre smiled a bit, “And there was that one night when Cosette was roaringly drunk. And Eponine.” His voice was low, and his words were understated. But, Marius made a choking noise anyway.
“Marius,” Combeferre said gently, turning to him, “I promise you – it was before the two of you had even met. And it meant little more than some drunken fun, I promise.” And if anyone could calm Marius down like that, it was Combeferre.
Cosette kissed him anyway, obviously concerned. “I promise it was nothing,” she whispered, earnestly, staring directly into Marius’s eyes. And he kissed her softly in response.
Combeferre raised a sardonic eyebrow. “Glad I left such an impression, Cosette,” he said drily. She stuck her tongue out at him.
“O, you’re one to talk. ‘It meant little more than some drunken fun,’” she quoted, doing a near spot-on Combeferre impression. He grinned in response to her. And then she was kissing Marius again, assuring him that he was indeed the best thing she had ever had. Combeferre relaxed back into his chair.
Courfeyrac was looking at him, slack jawed. There was a sound coming out of his throat that nearly everyone ignored. Until Combeferre looked back at him mildly, a single eyebrow raised in question. And Courfeyrac managed a “…h-how?”
And Combeferre couldn’t help his grin as Grantaire, his voice fucking drier than Death Valley, intoned, “That’s what happens, Courfeyrac, when one has the most game out of every of one’s rather attractive friends. Well...Most game of everyone other than 'Ponine. But she's, like, some freaking sex goddess, or something.” And Courfeyrac choked, looking rather like a fish out of water.
It took several minutes for Jehan, his softer, caring side winning out over his previous irritation, to calm Courfeyrac down enough to speak. He breathed for several moments, and everyone hoped he had forgotten until, still in a slightly strangled tone, he managed, “Bahorel?”
And Bahorel didn’t even look up from his phone as he rattled off the names. “Feuilly, Grantaire, Eponine, Jehan, one very short time with Courfeyrac,” there was a wicked grin, but he continued speaking over Courfeyrac’s disgruntled “Hey!”
“And of all of you, that’s it,” he said, finally raising his eyes from the screen to grin cheekily at the whole room. “Now if we’re going to go outside the group-”
“Not part of the game,” Courfeyrac cut across him, looking rather put out. He cleared his throat, giving Bahorel a nasty look before muttering something that sounded awfully like ‘Short, my ass.’ To which Bahorel’s grin grew even nastier and:
“Actually, it was my ass,” he said, “And, if I remember correctly, it took you all of five minutes-”
“It’s Feuilly’s turn!” Courfeyrac cut across him. And Bahorel couldn’t help a single booming laugh just as he returned to his furious texting.
Feuilly, he was equally absorbed in a book and his phone, looked up, dazed. “What?” he asked, looking the look in his eyes indicating that he had missed nearly all of the past twenty minutes.
Bahorel sighed, his grin switching to a look of utter martyrdom before leaning over and whispering in Feuilly’s ear. Feuilly’s expression changed several times before settling on exasperated fondness. Then he sighed as he listed: “Bahorel, Combeferre, Enjolras, Jehan, one rather drunken time with Courfeyrac, and one spectacular night with our dear Eponine.” And he winked at her and she rolled her eyes, looking fond.
“Spectacular, hunh?” she asked, an eyebrow cocked. Feuilly shrugged.
“I prefer men,” he said slowly. “But it was nice, honestly. Not my favorite, but nice.” And she kept her eyebrow cocked as she smiled at him, before winking in return.
Courfeyrac looked between them. “Touching,” he sighed, looking a little wistful. “And it was not strange-”
“You were wearing a headdress made completely of produce-”
“You have no imagination-”
“I’m a fucking artist, Courfeyrac-”
“Well, no sexual imagination, then-”
“Grantaire!” Jehan shouted, the look on his face pure, unadulterated exasperation. “Your turn.”
And Enjolras glanced at him to find his boyfriend playfully pulling at his collar, feigning discomfort. When he met Enjolras’s eyes, he ceased, but kept his warm smile in place. “Ah, well… You all already know of Jehan, Combeferre, Bahorel… Courfeyrac. So, basically that leaves… Enjolras, Cosette, Eponine.”
“Everyone keeps counting Eponine,” Courfeyrac grumbled.
And Eponine barked a laugh. “That’s because, generally, counting me doesn’t mean including several failed attempts to initiate an affair.”
Courfeyrac scowled at her. “That’s only because you’re no fun.”
“No, actually. It’s because my brother has chosen to make you one of his favorite people. It’d be weird to sleep with you,” she said, with a shrug. “And that’s beside the point that I don’t find you very attractive.”
And Courfeyrac’s scowl deepened. “Don’t even kid like that, Eponine. I am gorgeous and you know it.” And Eponine was laughing again. “Besides, isn’t Grantaire also one of your brother’s favorite people?”
“Yes, but I knew Grantaire before Gavroche idolized him, so…” she shrugged.
Courfeyrac fell once more into petulant silence. He spent several moments looking irritated, before nudging Jehan with his foot, whining wordlessly. Jehan sighed, exasperated again.
“Enjolras, I believe it is your turn,” he said tonelessly. Then he turned to Courfeyrac, trying to placate him enough so that the annoying noise coming from his throat would stop.
Enjolras cleared his throat, trying to ignore his rising embarrassment. “Ah... Just… Combeferre, Feuilly, Jehan… Grantaire.”
And suddenly Courfeyrac’s evil grin was back. “D’you have a favorite?” he drawled. And Enjolras choked a bit as the obvious answer, thinking about how these things were supposed to be private, dammit.
“Obviously me,” Combeferre said, dryly, not even looking up from his book. When Enjolras looked up, Combeferre spared him just a bit of a glance, winking to accompany his soothing smile. And Grantaire squeezed Enjolras’s hand.
The rest of the admissions were uneventful. Bossuet had only ever slept with Joly and Musichetta, which disappointed Courfeyrac immensely. Joly had only ever had Combeferre, Bossuet, and Musichetta. And boredom was written across Courfeyrac’s face. He perked up a little when Musichetta professed that she and Eponine had entertained a bit of a thing – they had been roommates in college, opened the Musain together… There had been time in there for such things. And it was different, unexpected. Courfeyrac heard it with barely concealed glee.
Then it was Marius’s turn, and his profession seemed to leave Courfeyrac assiduously bored (probably because there were only two people in the circle of people that he had entertained, and Courfeyrac had been 50% of them). He perked up somewhat at Cosette, and her admission of “Marius, obviously, Grantaire, Courfeyrac…and Eponine.”
Enjolras watched as Courfeyrac sat up. “Has everyone slept with Eponine?”
“Nearly, yes, if you had been listening,” Jehan said, unsympathetically, in the direction of his notebook. “She has a very healthy sex drive and people genuinely enjoy her company, in opposition to some people I know.” And Courfeyrac looked at him, worry wrinkling his brow. He bent forward and began to whisper with Jehan, looking more sorry than he had all evening, his eyes beginning to clear out of the haze of his drunkenness. And Jehan was apparently giving him short answers, obviously still irritated.
“I guess we’re finished,” Eponine said slowly. “You all already know who I’ve slept with,” she smiled a bit, “and in case anyone thinks I should feel ashamed-”
“Of course you shouldn’t feel ashamed,” Bossuet said quickly, looking slightly perplexed. “Why would you?” and Musichetta kissed his cheek.
Eponine smiled broader. “Exactly. This is why two people are crazy about you, Bossuet.” And she dropped a kiss to the top of his head, before making her standard excuses in order to excuse herself for the evening. And then, with a final look thrown towards Combeferre’s corner, she exited the café.
And everyone eventually followed her, starting with Combeferre around fifteen minutes later, and ending with Enjolras and Grantaire nearly three hours after she'd left. Musichetta had already closed up, reminding everyone that whoever was last to leave had to lock up. And that position, everyone conceded, belonged to Courfeyrac and Jehan, who had made up nearly an hour ago, and were making out in an armchair in the back. Enjolras and Grantaire whispered good-byes they couldn’t hear before leaving.
It was snowing out, Enjolras noted with something akin to awe.
“It’s snowing out,” he murmured, and Grantaire leaned in and kissed him quickly on the mouth.
“It’s cold,” he answered. “Let’s get you home.”
And it was a block and a half and then they were dead bolting the door behind them. Grantaire dusted snow off of Enjolras’s shoulders.
“So…” he said slowly, “Combeferre, Feuilly, and Jehan, hunh?” And Enjolras felt himself turning red.
“Jehan, Combeferre, Bahorel, Courfeyrac, Cosette and Eponine,” he shot back. And Grantaire’s playful expression faded into seriousness.
“You know it was always you, though, right?” he said. “I mean… I had to try other things, see if I could get over you. And I might have even fallen in love a little along the way, with others… But you were always…some unachievable ideal. Something to love, but not to expect love from in return. A god so far above the folly of mortals… I am desperately on love with you and have been for a very long time. No matter how many people I…consorted with… you have always been…it.”
And Enjolras kissed him gently. “I was listing them, Grantaire… I didn’t say that I was jealous of any of them…”
“Ah… What your mouth didn’t say, your eyes did,” Grantaire smirked. And Enjolras felt himself blush again. “And, God knows I’m jealous. Combeferre I was expecting, but Jehan and Feuilly as well? Fuck…”
“I have been told I have the beauty of the divine,” Enjolras said dryly. And Grantaire practically beamed at him. “I haven’t thought about it in a while, though,” he sighed, watching Grantaire’s expression fade back into seriousness. “I mean… They’re my past. But you’re my present.” He shrugged. “And, I dunno… Maybe…” He rubbed the back of his neck until the skin at his nape was hot to the touch. Grantaire’s gaze was rigid on him. “Maybe, we could think about making you my future as well? You know, maybe.”
And Grantaire, seemingly following the trend of the evening, made a choking sound. Enjolras, suddenly worried, rushed forward and gripped at his arms.
“Are you okay?” he tried to say, but didn’t get the chance because, suddenly Grantaire was kissing him. Grantaire was kissing him like he wanted nothing more, like he desired him, like there was nothing else in the world. It would be an understatement to say that Enjolras lost his train of thought.
“Maybe we could think about it?” Grantaire said into their shared air nearly five minutes later. “Maybe?”
“Unless you don’t want to-” Enjolras began, but then Grantaire cut him off – another breathless kiss.
“I don’t have to think about it,” Grantaire said, “I’ve known my answer to that question for…seven years?” As long as they had known each other, he means. “I love you,” he whispers then, and Enjolras smiles, wondering how Courfeyrac’s stupid game had turned into this.
Then he figured that he really didn’t care.
“I love you too,” he replied. And then he pulled Grantaire impatiently back to their bedroom, kissing him breathlessly, grateful for everything they were and fantastically happy for everything it sounded like they were going to be.